


any way you feel

by xylodemon



Series: deancas codas: season thirteen [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Episode Related, M/M, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: Castiel says, "I missed you," and skims his fingers across Dean's cheek.





	any way you feel

**Author's Note:**

> This is sappy reunion sex set during 13x06, so. Not exactly a coda, but close enough. I'm not going to name any names, but if I was Vee and Michelle, I'd know whose fault this is.
> 
> [Also rebloggable @ Tumblr](http://xylodemon.tumblr.com/post/167642689204/deancas-fic-any-way-you-feel-18k-nsfw).

"Dean," Castiel murmurs.

Smiling, Dean shifts closer. The Impala dips slightly, and leather creaks under Dean's knee. His lips brush Castiel's cheek. He says, "Hey, c'mere," in a low voice, and Castiel feels the words against his skin.

Dean kisses the bolt of Castiel's jaw and the space below Castiel's ear. He curls a hand into Castiel's hair, tugging gently as he noses at Castiel's chin. The tension in Castiel's shoulders starts to ebb. He sighs quietly and tips back his head.

Dean presses another kiss to Castiel's jaw, then slides his wet, open mouth down the side of Castiel's neck. He hooks his fingers in Castiel's tie and tugs until the knot unravels. He palms the hollow of Castiel's throat, and Castiel shivers. Dean's skin is warm. Castiel's pulse is beating beneath his thumb.

"Hey," Dean says again. "You alright?"

Nodding, Castiel says, "Yes. I — I'm just..."

Dean works open the first two buttons on Castiel's shirt. "What? Tell me."

Castiel hesitates. He doubts he can explain it in a way Dean will understand. Describing the Empty as _nothing_ had been an oversimplification; it's the absence of existence, and humans often have trouble grasping the reality of that. While Castiel was there, _he_ was nothing. He was beyond feeling or wanting or needing. Beyond touch.

Instead, Castiel says, "I missed you," and skims his fingers across Dean's cheek. 

He should've been beyond that as well, but he sensed it the moment Jack woke him — a strange susurrus in the darkness, a soft but constant undertow that pulled at the body he hadn't truly had.

Dean fumbles the next button, and Castiel realizes his hands are shaking. He catches Dean's wrist and strokes Dean's knuckles with his thumb. "What about you?"

"I'm good," Dean replies, but his voice dips. He swallows hard and looks away. "I — I, um —"

"Dean."

Light from the motel's sign is glaring through the Impala's rear window; Dean says, "It's nothing," with deep, red shadows dancing across his face. He finishes unbuttoning Cas' shirt before continuing, "I just — I thought I'd lost you, man. You — I thought you were really gone." He runs his hand up Castiel's chest and thumbs at Castiel's nipple. "I even — I tried praying to God. I asked him to bring you back, but he, he didn't — he —"

"Dean." Castiel leans in and catches Dean's mouth. "I'm here."

Huffing, Dean says, "Yeah. Yeah, you are." The Impala dips again as he nudges Castiel onto his back. He reaches for Castiel's belt. "C'mon. Get this off."

Castiel could remove his clothing in an eye-blink, but before he died he'd enjoyed the physicality of being undressed — Dean's fingers unhooking his belt, Dean's knuckles brushing the ticklish skin below his navel. Dean urging him to lift his hips; Dean drawing his slacks down his legs. Dean slides his hands up Castiel's naked thighs, and Castiel tries to ground himself in the sensation — in the warmth of Dean palms and the rasp of skin against skin. Castiel returned to earth feeling like he left a part of himself in the Empty. A small part, but enough — enough that he's spent the last twenty-four hours relearning how to fit inside his vessel. Enough that he's found himself holding his grace close, like he's afraid to let it brim to the surface. But now — now —

The seat whines as Dean braces one arm beside Castiel's head. As tall as they are, they don't really have enough room for this. Castiel has one foot on the floorboard; the other is hooked around Dean's leg. Dean touches Castiel's throat again, then leans down and kisses him, slow and deep. He brings his hand up to hold Castiel's face and rubs his thumb at the corner of Castiel's mouth. Another kiss, then another and another. Castiel tugs on Dean's t-shirt, and Dean sits up enough to pull it over his head. The rear window has started to fog, but red light still flares along the curve of his shoulder.

Castiel runs his hands up the length of Dean's back. He finds a small scar at the top of Dean's spine — something new, a wound Dean earned and healed while Castiel was dead. He traces it with the tip of his finger before pushing his hand into Dean's hair. He murmurs Dean's name. Dean sucks in a breath and hides his face against Castiel's neck. He rolls his hips, grinding himself against Castiel's thigh.

"Fuck," Dean hisses. A slow shudder curls up his spine. "Cas, fuck."

He rolls his hips again and bites a kiss into Castiel's neck, just below his ear. Their cheeks brush, warm skin and a scrape of stubble, and arousal jolts through Castiel so sharply that his grace ripples with it, roiling and sparking as it shifts beneath his skin. Dean wraps his hand around Castiel's erection, and Castiel arches up, clawing at Dean's shoulders. It's almost overwhelming after the stillness of the Empty, all of it — the closeness of the car, the humidity around them. The heat of Dean's mouth, the texture of his hair, the solid weight of his body.

The sweat on the seat is prickling at Castiel's shoulders and back. He arches up again, digging his heel into Dean's calf. "More. Dean, I — please."

Dean says, "Okay, yeah," but sucks another mark into Castiel's throat before reaching for the bottle of lube in the footwell. The Impala rocks and creaks as he sits up on his knees. Shadows cut the red light twisting across his chest.

Castiel shifts closer. "You don't have to. You won't hurt me."

"No way," Dean says, shaking his head. "I like this part."

He teases Castiel at first, just pressing and stroking with the pad of his thumb, but Castiel wills his vessel to relax and open, and then Dean's fingers slip inside — one, then two. The third is a stretch, and Castiel realizes that he's clamped down on his grace again, curled it inward until it's a faint spark in the center of his chest. It's been restless since he returned, thrumming with a strength and purpose he lost in the weeks and months after Dean's resurrection. Dean's fingers shift inside him, and Castiel lets his grace suffuse throughout his body.

Sensation swallows him. Dean's free hand skims the length of his erection, and the counterpoint of that touch and the pressure on his prostate leaves him feeling like he's drowning. He tips his head back and claws at the seat. His grace skitters away from him. A bulb in the motel's sign shatters, showering glass and sparks all around the Impala.

"Christ," Dean says. He rubs his thumb over the slick head of Castiel's erection. "You're fucking hot like this."

That shouldn't affect Castiel — Dean doesn't know the truth of him, has only seen the vessel he wears, not the brilliant, sweeping reach of his trueform — but another bolt of arousal courses through him. Moaning, he tips his head back and cants his hips.

Dean thrusts his fingers in deep and teases his thumb around Castiel's rim. "You gonna come?"

"Dean."

"Yeah, c'mon," Dean says, low and coaxing and dark. He strokes Castiel's erection again, his palm sweat-slick and rough, and the heat churning inside Castiel finally crests. His grace ripples as his body shakes and spends. Another bulb shatters. He closes his eyes, worried it will flare out of him hotter and brighter than Dean can bear.

Silence. As Castiel's grace settles, his heart pounds in his chest. Carefully, Dean slips his fingers out of Castiel's body, and Castiel makes a soft, shameful sound at the loss. He opens his eyes again. The motel's sign has dimmed considerably; Dean is mostly shadows as he hooks an arm under Castiel's tight and lines himself up.

He sinks into Castiel slowly, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, Cas — _Jesus_ ," and wringing his hand at Castiel's waist. Once he's seated, his head dips. He pauses to take a few shaky breaths. Then he starts to roll his hips, building a pace, leaning down as he thrusts so that Castiel is pinned to the seat. Castiel is spent, but he still relishes it — the closeness, the fullness, the friction and heat. It's a shade of the completion he felt when he enveloped Dean's soul in his grace and carried him from Perdition, and he wants it — he wants all of it.

He strokes Dean's hair and face, and he palms the fever-hot skin at the hollow of Dean's throat. Dean is beautiful like this, his mouth parted and his eyes dark. Even in the poor light, Castiel can see the flex and pull of his muscles and slow flush burning down the center of his chest. He runs his hands up Dean's heaving sides, scratching with his nails because he knows it will make Dean shiver and moan. He teases Dean's nipples until Dean's hips stutter and he gasps, "Cas, you gotta — I ain't gonna last."

But Castiel wants that — wants Dean to hold him, fill him — so he pulls Dean in for a kiss. Dean leans down to meet him, brushing their mouths together as he releases Castiel's thigh and slides his arms under Castiel's back. He splays his hands across Castiel's shoulder blades, right where his wings would join to his body if they existed on this plane. They ache in the space Castiel has them hidden, restless to be unfurled. A shudder ripples through him, and he chokes out a thin, desperate noise against Dean's jaw.

He's hard again. His erection rides against Dean's abdomen for a few thrusts, but then Dean shifts closer and moves a hand down to touch him. He mumbles, "Cas," under his breath and mouths hot, wet kisses down the line of Castiel's neck. He keeps his other hand between Castiel's shoulder blades, stroking Castiel's skin soft and slow — so soft and slow that Castiel can almost feel fingers carding through his feathers. Pleasure crashes over him in sinuous waves, like the ocean beating at the shore. 

"Cas, fuck." Dean snaps his hips, his back bowing as he releases, deep in Castiel's body. "Castiel."

Castiel tumbles over the edge with a low, dark moan. His grace is a maelstrom, but before he can turn his head, Dean noses at his cheek. 

"No. I wanna see. Lemme see."

Another bulb shatters, but Castiel keeps his eyes open. His vision shimmers, blue-white and bright. Dean squints against it, but he doesn't look away.

After a pause, Dean leans up on his elbow and huffs out a noise. "Man, you're something else. You busted the whole damn sign."

"I couldn't help it," Castiel admits. "I've missed having you close."

Heat rushes to Dean's cheeks. Ducking his head, he says, "I missed you, too. You — you gotta promise me you ain't gonna leave like that again."

"I won't," Castiel says. He presses his palm to Dean's shoulder, right where his hand print once was. "I won't."


End file.
